


A Stupid Story Where Velouria Decides to Eat You

by PennsylvaniaKiteWeather



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Cuddling, Other, POV Second Person, Vore, also she sniffs around a bunch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 05:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PennsylvaniaKiteWeather/pseuds/PennsylvaniaKiteWeather
Summary: Velouria invites you over to her room so you can help her sleep, but, after getting to know you a little better, a strange idea springs into the wolfskin's head.





	A Stupid Story Where Velouria Decides to Eat You

**Author's Note:**

> As the tags might imply, this work involves soft vore — without graphic depictions. More author notes continue at the end.

How should you knock?

Standing in a silent hallway of Castle Krakenburg, would it be wise to make a lot of noise this late at night? She’d hear on the other side even with just a couple gentle taps, probably. But there’s no reason to act like you’re timid or afraid of her, even if she is kind of a monster.

You knock as you normally would. Moments later a mellow face peeks around the opening door. She immediately brightens up to see that you’ve snuck out of your room in your pajamas successfully.

“Ah! You came,” Velouria says quietly. “Thanks, thanks for coming.”

You step in and close the door of her room, seeing the space exactly in the state you worried about: cluttered with countless “treasures” heaped against the walls — metal and leather bits, mixed with whatever natural pieces of art she could seize.

And then there’s her appearance. Without the red hood, her head of lightish-gray hair with its lavender-colored streak looks nicer falling freely down her shoulders. The pink nightgown seems plain in contrast to the outfit she wears around by day. The thin fringe cuts off just at her hips, leaving her thighs uncovered; they have to squeeze together to shield the sight of her drawers. There’s a nervous stance to her pale, slender legs, down to her bare feet stepping on each other, teasing through the fur rug as they curl and crinkle up a scrap of paper between her toes.

She could be just as unsure as you, about inviting somebody over. You agreed because this would hopefully appease her recent bout of loneliness. Her parents were taking a “vacation” away from the castle for two weeks, after all. A girl of her maturity still had the tendency to hover around people, though — specifically, you. She began to show up on the bench outside during your swordplay training, drumming her heels against the ground as she watched. In the castle, it was hard to ignore her in a conversation with your comrades, thanks to her standing at a distance, clutching a curtain as she slowly picked it for spare threads.

When you finally were away from your servants long enough, Velouria shuffled up with the bashful request to spend more time with you. Perhaps part what made you accept was your curiosity about her, why the quirkiest, yet most-reserved member of the army would want to see you at nighttime. It was impossible to say no to her face glancing up with that endearing smile, the metronomic swish of her tail quickening at your consent.

 

“Can we please sleep now?” she pipes up. Her tail moves with an impatient, excited twitch. You let her take hold of your arm and lead you over to her bed.

A small sewn plushie is lying on the covers. You pick it up to inspect the tuft of black and white hair, one button-eye, and a patchy fabric vest.

“Oh, that...!” Velouria deftly takes the doll out of your hands and tosses it into the scrap pile, where it lands with a puff of feathers and dust. “That helps me sleep sometimes, heh heh. I shouldn’t need it tonight...” Her hands wander up to both your shoulders, fingers gently rolling over your collarbone. As she steers you into the side of the bed, your knees naturally bend and sit.

“Go on,” she tenderly urges. “Lie down and get cozy.” You clear your legs out of the way so Velouria can clamber on. A bit of a linty smell brushes your nostrils from your head on the pillowcase, and the mattress feels comfortable enough, dense with fluff and feather down.

The wolfskin is cuddling against you in a flash; her arm tucks around your back, and her warm breath reveals she had recently chewed some mint leaves. “Hi,” she whispers, punctuated by the singular thump of her tail and a broader smile. Up close to her like this, her eyes are intoxicatingly dark and draining, which the lone candle in the room can’t generate enough energy to reflect a catch light in her eyes. She doesn’t shy away from you staring, instead scooting nearer like an animal meeting a new friend.

“Mmm, you smell nice...”

She takes advantage of your arm in between you both and grasps it, placing her nose against your skin. In the quiet you can hear the short huffs of hers. There’s little to say as she keeps snuffling about, though evidently she seems to enjoy it, perhaps to the point it makes you feel strangely like an object rather than a sleeping partner.

Her hand slips through the back of yours for the moment, the prick of her nails — sharp, but not lengthy — as she bends her digits into your palm. For the both of you to be mingling your fingers together, without her gloves, no less, is still like handling silk. In her little paw-grip she turns your wrist this way and that, toying with it, and eventually moving it towards her.

Velouria lets go to allow you to touch the side of her face. Your fingers drift up through her strands of hair and glide along the top of her soft ear, which flattens even more meekly in response. She takes hold of your hand again to bring it close to her mouth and mask her emerging smile, a little gesture of thanks for letting her indulge in her apparent obsession.

She ventures to give the space between your fingers a single lick, then sucks on your middle knuckle briefly. Her eyes are closed, engrossed in figuring out your scent and your taste, searching for where you’ve been and what you’ve touched before your intimate encounter with her. The tingly sensation lingers from having her saliva coat you here and there, the chill of moisture drying up as she steals a quick glance to see if you react to her nibbling on your index finger.

Wordlessly, she lifts your hand into her mouth. You can feel the dampness engulf once her lips close around your wrist. The wide-eyed, curious look she gives freezes you for a second, makes you question her harmlessness. Try to pull your hand out, and it grazes against the roof of her mouth; she growls.

Words fail you as she gnaws on the top of your hand to keep it flat, her tongue fidgeting against your palm. Keeping her eyes on yours, she then tries to swallow, and her tongue is strong, ushering your hand deeper in. It happens again, and again, and each time your wrist inches further. The sudden touch of the back of her throat, narrow, slick, and stretchy like sailcloth, makes you want to gag instead of her. But Velouria’s composed, her jaw slack around your fist so she can still breathe, hot and heavy, radiating a predatory energy of being up to the task. It numbs your entire arm, ever so slowly, like it’s deciding to play dead on you. The wolfskin is only coming alive, her tail heard flapping over the sound of your heartbeat getting stronger. It’s a game of tug-o-war, she must think, panting as she moves, with delicate slowness, to lean up on her knees and reign her dominance.

Though at this awkward angle, trying to swallow your arm down might as well break it or get it lodged on the way down. She reaches for you to make this an easier job for you both. You sit up, and Velouria shimmies down on all-fours in front of you, her neck as parallel as possible to the bed. You’re face-to-face with her wild eyes, and the unsettling row of sharp teeth. Her nightgown is rolled up to the base of her tail, standing upright, wagging incessantly. Regardless of your fear, the she-wolf swallows, pulling your arm in, suctioning it down deeper. Her throat, a convoy of muscles all bunching and flexing to transport you to her rumbling stomach.

She then opens wider, and wider, raising her upper jaw like a gate or a guillotine’s edge. The wet, worming tongue of hers slathers your upper arm as it glides through with the help of her hungry salivation. Even if it’s gross to be reaching through her, you have to submit; let her sate her curiosity and get it over with, for it could be impossible to back out now.

The little pocket of space you’ve lurched into runs out, and your arm stops. Velouria whines— it’s the bottom of her gut. Still in her voracious lust to continue fighting you, she twists her head and upper body to one side; your arm has to fold slightly to match her angle. All this time you’ve been gradually leaning into her, and now she appears ready to rear forwards and close around your shoulder.

She compacts you exactly the way she wants, hugging your side and your other arm to tuck them together, another hand pushing down on the top of your head. Your bodies brush, chests and legs closing in as she wrenches and wrestles you. If only you were a little more flexible or smaller, but with her strength there’s no gentler way. Her jaws come so far apart she’s trembling from the strain, the anticipation to proudly swallow up the scared face you’re making. Finally you lose eye-contact with her as the glimmering fangs hover over, and the slobber-slickened roof of her mouth descends to shut out the light for good.

“Oom...! Annhh... Haaahnn...” Her groans of pleasure are right in your ears, reverberating down the back of your neck, wisps of heated breath on your skin. Wedging up against the start of her throat, it too broadens to make way so your upper body can follow the path your arm had burrowed through.

Velouria’s lips span both your shoulders, her teeth scraping like needles, enough to tear a rip in your pajamas; however, there’s no sting of drawn blood, just the wash of drool mollifying the rough pushing and intermittent swallows.

In her tunnel-like interior, squishy, sweating walls press up against your face like a wet rag dragging itself over. You wriggle deeper in to try to hurry her up, or else risk suffocation on the way down. By now she’s hoisted your waist up, your legs leaving it the mattress like it’s the very earth you’re floating away from. Her hands work feverishly to grope a lower and lower point on you—hips, back of the thigh, on the shin—slowly raising her back to waterfall your limp form into her innards.

Gravity finishes off the plunge, sending you in a motion between tumbling and crawling into a pit that only expands as your weight hits it. The living cavern squelches and rumbles beneath you, and everything from your nightwear to your hair sticks like wet paste to yourself. Helplessness and disorientation set in almost immediately, like you’ve been thrown in a coffin and pushed down the steps into a black cellar. You writhe and struggle against the slimy boundaries of her gut, sliding and scrabbling to right yourself. Velouria is wobbling about as well, shaking the entire prison.

“Ah! Ohhhh!” she gasps from above. She flops and finally grows still. “It— It’s okay! Calm down! I won’t move anymore!” You feel her clutching from both sides, and in a way that helps your bearings.

Like entrenched in quicksand, your shoulders and legs heave for leverage. The effort to turn yourself over demands you inhale the sparse, stale air. Velouria smooths over every bump and bulge you make in her flesh when shoving against her dense stomach.

“Ooooh! Having you crawl around inside me feels... feels... amazing!” Somehow, working through the mustiness, you wind up in the fetal position. She pats the underside of her gut and you feel the gentle tapping against your feet.

“Even though you were sooo delicious,” comes a distant whisper. “Let me know if you want to come out...”

Her hand slides over your side as it passes over her skin, a satisfied hum echoing throughout her abdomen. It’s still dark and tomb-like, unchanging no matter how wide you force your eyes open. And if she does intend to keep you here, what will everyone in the castle do?

But repose comes from the other surroundings: the whooshing of air above through her chest calms to a breeze, her heartbeat slows, and the dull burbling of satisfaction from her stomach juices begins as her body settles down with its meal. As she tenderly massages herself, the shuffling noises outside mix with the comforting press of her walls against your limbs. You settle your head against her and push to give yourself a bit more space to breathe, swaddled inside the belly of the beast.

**Author's Note:**

> An experiment after picking up an affinity for vore. I wanted to carefully take a step into it — as in, keep it relatively safe with its outcome, or at least open-ended. Treating the reader as a Corrin self-insert is hopefully not too odd of a choice that this loses the story’s effect. I think one of the challenges for me was to work around the unusual anatomy. Establishing a perspective that sort of tunnel-visions into what’s happening, instead of how it’s happening, helped me a bunch here.
> 
> [Project: “give up! surrender! get me uncoaxed!”]


End file.
